Each and Every Day
by Iliak
Summary: Short fics written for Fakiru Week. Not much angst, but not all fluff. A few have mature themes. Varying points in the series as well as post-series. All Fakir/Ahiru!
1. Day 1: Blue

AN: These are the fics I wrote for Fakiru Week on deviantArt. Each day of the week was assigned a prompt, so each fic was written accordingly. For the prompt "Blue," I used a rather immature interpretation. XD;

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><p>Ahiru just had to stare. She'd never seen Fakir act quite like this.<p>

She couldn't help being a bit distressed about it. He hadn't ever just shoved her away like that in the middle of kissing-though after their very first one, he'd spent a good long while blushing and not being able to say very much or look at anybody. But that bout of unsociability had come after they were already done. This time, he'd stopped in the middle of it-right when it was getting really, really _good_.

Her brow creasing with concern, she tugged at his sleeve. "Hey, come on! There's nobody else here!"

Fakir stayed just as he was, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms clasped firmly around his calves, his face hidden.

Sighing, Ahiru flopped back onto the grass. "... Are you mad at me?" But that wouldn't really make sense. She was getting better and better at reading Fakir, and the more she thought about it, the more she was sure he wasn't angry. If he was he would have just left.

Besides, what would he even be mad about? Everything had been going just fine. More than fine.

A muffled sound coming from Fakir's direction reached her ears, so Ahiru propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him again. "Did you say something?"

Fakir didn't move, so his words were still muffled, but he added enough volume to make himself comprehensible this time, "You should go."

"Go? Fa_kir_." A whine in her voice, Ahiru got up on her knees and grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and started yanking. "You can't-" pants punctuated her sentence as she tugged, "-just-leave it-like-th-"

A loud yelp sounded as Fakir was forced out of his constrictive ball of hiding, his limbs abruptly splaying out as he fell backwards from the momentum. "Idiot!"

"I'm not done!" Ahiru roared-if someone with such a quacklike voice could ever be said to roar-before diving down to grab his shoulders.

But Fakir got hold of hers first and immediately set about frantically trying to keep her body as far from his own as possible. "You don't-get it!"

"What's the matter with you? You can't just start and then stop and then say things like that!" Ahiru plopped herself down on Fakir's lap and tried again at shoving him down.

Fakir's arms flailed, like he was panicked, but that gave Ahiru a rare advantage. Scooting herself forward a bit, she set about getting herself settled and secure before she leaned in to finish what they'd started.

But... there was something funny. Wondering if she'd imagined it, Ahiru paused, an expression of puzzlement crossing her face. Fakir looked back at her with trepidation. "Just stop it already!"

"Fakir... " Slowly, Ahiru moved her hips over his.

Yes, there was definitely something there that wasn't there before.

"Fakir, what-?" Ahiru cut herself short when she saw his expression. It was strained, almost like he was in pain. His breaths were shallow.

"Fakir!" She reached for his shoulders again, but this time it was to shake them. "What happened to you? We have to get you to a doctor right away!"

Later, Ahiru was able to laugh about this incident, but Fakir could never quite share the sentiment.


	2. Day 2: Youth

When Fakir danced, there was power in it. He could do what others simply couldn't. His lean body could perform feats that belied a seemingly impossible strength. Audiences were left amazed, wondering how anyone could move so quickly, jump so high, and do it all with such grace as made it appear easy. He looked superhuman on the stage.

Ahiru looked rather _less_ than human. She was more likely to trip and fall than execute a jeté, more likely to stumble than glissade across the dance floor. And even something in the way she walked just normally, when she wasn't dancing at all, looked awkward.

Critics wrote in their reviews about how poor of a choice it was, putting such a clumsy dancer with such a skilled one. It was clear the pair had chemistry, they would say, but to have one so clearly outstripping the other was ill-advised and detracted from the performance.

But the true beauty of skill in dance is that it is ephemeral, fated to live only while the dancer's body endures the demands put upon it. A young man might work his body until he can perform astounding feats, but he cannot keep his grace forever.

Years later, when Fakir's limbs started to lose the discipline he had trained into them, Ahiru's skill still had not surpassed his. Her fumbles were perhaps less frequent, but it was always apparent that Fakir was the better dancer, between them.

But the same critics, whose hair had started to gray, found themselves noticing things they had not before.

The other beauty of dance, which has nothing to do with skill, is in the emotion inspired in those who see it.

When Fakir and Ahiru danced, though their steps had lost the vigor of their younger days, anyone who watched could feel acutely the firmness of a tree bearing its first fruit and the light fluttering of a bird leaving the branches to test its wings against the empty air for the first time.


	3. Day 3: Fight

AN: I imagine this piece taking place during the series, not long after Raetsel's episode.

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><p>Ahiru spent all that afternoon at the barre. She went through the basics over and over, continuing long after her muscles ached and begged her to give it a rest. Anything, anything besides thinking about <em>that<em>...

She was still going at it, in fact, when the voice of her instructor greeted her with rare praise. "Miss Ahiru, this is quite a change! I see I've finally gotten through to you... !"

"Ah-!" she paused in the middle of lifting her leg in an arabesque behind her, not quite completing the pose and so making a rather awkward show. But Mr. Cat was not deterred.

"You have found your true motivation, haven't you? Could it be-could it be, you are working yourself to the bone, trying ardently to impress me, because you wish-"

"Mr. Cat," Ahiru interrupted, a pensive look on her face.

He looked a bit put out, but responded in a calmer tone than he'd had before, "... Yes, Miss Ahiru? A question for your teacher? Could it be about mm-mar-"

"Mr. Cat," she went on, as though he hadn't spoken, "is it... is it possible to love... more than one person at the same time?"

"Of course," he replied gravely. "Giselle allowed the affections of both Hilarion and Albrecht, after all. That was why the ending was so unfortunate."

Ahiru had sat down underneath the barre without quite realizing it. Her brow was furrowed, her face serious. "So, it's a bad thing, then. I knew that, but..."

"It is not so simple, Miss Ahiru," Mr. Cat began, but Ahiru was on her feet again. Her face had scrunched into a determined pout.

"It's definitely, definitely bad-it can't happen!"

And that was all she would say on the matter.


	4. Day 4: Warmth

AN: This occurs in the series, sometime between when Fakir fights the ghost knight (and briefly volunteers for the part in the play) and when he is reminded of his mad writing skillz.

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><p>"Hey-hey, Fakir! Wait up, wait up, wait up!"<p>

Fakir missed only a beat before he started walking faster.

"FAKIR, HEY, I said WAIT, y'know!"

He gave no indication of having heard her, and instead quickly stepped into the library. His feet took him upstairs to a far corner in the stacks, at a pace so quick that Autor looked up with irritation when Fakir passed him, though Fakir's silence gave him nothing to actually scold about.

But he could not escape her, at least not for very long. The disadvantage of the location he'd chosen was that, while it was obscure to the common visitor of the library, there was no way to get out without ultimately coming into view of the main section downstairs. All he'd really ended up doing was stalling.

Stalling, and giving himself something to be irritated about.

He could already hear her downstairs, as she was making quite a racket-calling out his name, being loudly shushed by Autor, and knocking down what sounded like quite a few books and possibly a chair or two.

Sighing, Fakir leaned against one of the rows, dusty old books pressing into the back of his uniform jacket. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

What was even the point of all that? If he was going to go to the trouble of avoiding her, he needed to be better about it. He was sure he should be much better at thinking on his feet.

Granted, his behavior was ridiculous to start with.

To his credit, Fakir quite faithfully kept up the appearance of nonchalance when Ahiru finally found him. He didn't even blink at her disheveled state, even though the color brought to her cheeks by exertion did something strange to his stomach.

"_There_ you are! Jeez, I can't believe you didn't hear me!" Ahiru had to pause and catch her breath.

Fakir took a book from the shelf across from him without paying particular attention to what it was, and examined the copyright page as if it were incredibly fascinating. He didn't need to have gone to the trouble, though, as Ahiru had already caught her breath and started to use it in a long trill of rapid words.

"-so you should definitely do it anyway, even if you say _there's no point, idiot_, it would be good for you!"

"I'm not doing something because you tell me to," he replied coolly, turning a page to inspect the table of contents.

"But you liked it! I could tell, and you were really good, and everyone in the drama club thought so too, and you can't just let them down!"

Catching up to the point she was making, Fakir was able to admonish her for something specific. "I don't have time to be in some stupid play."

"Well-yeah, I know. I know we have important stuff to do, but... " She faltered, and then went on in a more subdued tone. "... You've gotta do _something_ for fun sometimes. Won't it be easier on you if you're not always up here?" She gestured to the stacks towering around them, looking at him with pleading eyes.

... And Fakir abruptly realized that he could see her eyes. He was looking at her face. He had ceased to look at the book.

How did she keep accomplishing this kind of thing, and why was he only getting worse at resisting it?

She seemed to realize that there was something significant in the fact that he was looking at her and not admonishing her at the same time, so she smiled encouragingly. "You know, you're a really good dancer! It's honestly really beautiful, whenever I get to see it..."

Fakir was completely certain he was running a fever. There was no other adequate excuse for being so light headed and dizzy and _hot_ all of a sudden.

Maybe he was allergic to ducks.


	5. Day 5: Feathers

Coming up behind her as she sat at the kitchen table not-really-doing-her-homework, Fakir emptied a handful of yellow fluff on top of Ahiru's head. "This is getting ridiculous."

"Huh?" Letting out a small squawk in surprise, Ahiru endeavored to brush the light yellow feathers out of her hair, scattering them all over the floor in the process. "But I thought we already _found_ them all!"

"Shouldn't you know where you left them?" Fakir had already fetched the broom from the corner and started to sweep up the pile of old down.

Turning around in the chair, Ahiru huffed. "Well, _you_ can't talk about it! You don't know what it's like to molt! You lose so much, and then some more, and then you stop noticing that you're losing it!"

"You just weren't paying attention." Having swept the feathers into a pile, he bent down to scoop them up into his hands again.

"You wouldn't wanna pay attention either," Ahiru pouted, petulantly muttering about itchiness.

"Anyway," Fakir thrust the handful of feathers in her direction again, "you want these too, right?"

Going quiet and looking shy for a moment, Ahiru nodded, holding out her hands, cupped, to receive her old feathers.

She took a moment to just look at them. "... It's kinda too bad, even though I guess it's really not."

Fakir didn't say anything, but he looked at her so quizzically that she went on anyway with a sheepish giggle. "Getting your white, grown-up feathers is important for ducks, you know! It's like..."

She didn't know how to adequately explain it in human terms, a deficiency that Fakir was extremely grateful for. He didn't think he could handle hearing her refer to those parts of her body out loud.

"I guess... I guess I just thought I'd be wearing them for longer. They were sort of pretty-when I didn't get them dirty or anything, anyway... "

She looked up to see that Fakir had fixed her with a strange, unreadable look. "Eh? What's-"

"Come on," he interrupted, turning his back to head for the door.

Puzzled, Ahiru followed, blithely forgetting her homework on the table. "Where are we going?"

Fakir already had his arms through the sleeves of his coat. His back was turned to her as he opened the door. "Put on your coat. You need new clothes."


	6. Day 6: Inspiration

AN: According to The Oxford English Dictionary, "inspiration" can mean "The action of blowing on or into."

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><p>Minding his own business, seated at his desk and pondering over one of his old stories, Fakir was abruptly and crudely yanked out of his thoughts by a pair of arms settling around his neck and a harsh burst of hot air right into his ear.<p>

"-Ngh! Quit that! Pest!"

Ahiru was clearly not sorry at all, evidenced by the way she giggled and leaned closer to his ear and inhaled, apparently intent on repeating the action.

Fakir attempted to swerve away, though her arms impeded him. "I said stop! What's with you?"

"C'moooon. You've been sitting here doing _nothing_ all this time."

"I'm busy." Not many people could send such potent glares without looking directly at their targets, but Fakir was a man of many talents. Ahiru was resistant to this weapon, though, and only pouted at him.

"Nuh-uh! That's a story you already wrote! A long time ago!"

Fakir shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I need to look at it. I need to make sure-"

This time, Ahiru's breath was exhaled softly, a gentle stream she directed in a slow circle around the edge of his ear instead of right into it.

It... tickled.

Fakir squirmed in her grip. "Like I said, I need to look at it and check-"

"Don't change anything." Her voice was even softer than her breath, not sounding loud even when she spoke so close to his ear. She kissed the lobe and then spoke gently again, her breath hot, "It's my favorite."

It was impossible for Fakir not to shiver. "I wasn't... going to change it. I just wanted to know... "

She pressed a wet kiss against the side of his face, close to where his hairline started, and blew softly against the dampened skin. Leaving small that patch of skin to slowly dry in the air, she spoke into his ear again.

"Then you don't need to read it. I can tell it to you."


	7. Day 7: Love

Ahiru didn't doubt that her spring had run dry. All the same, she wasn't unhappy.

Not being caught up in looking for Mytho's heart shards or his latest victim left a surprising amount of extra time in her days. She could get in more dance practice-maybe not enough to qualify her for a spot in the advanced class, at least not for a long time yet, but she _had_ been allowed to finally start learning _pointe_. And then there was still even more time-time to chat with Pique and Lilie, time to find Autor in the library and ask him which stories had happy endings, time to read those stories and then tell Fakir all about them. It would always turn out that he'd already read those ones, but talking to him about them was still fun. And anyway, it just gave her another goal: find the best story in the library before Fakir had read it.

Fakir would always tell her that was a silly goal, which Ahiru didn't think was a fair assessment. Just because he was a faster reader and had a head start on her, it didn't mean she didn't have a chance. Getting to tell him about something new and wonderful was worth trying for.

Naturally, having more hours in her day didn't cure Ahiru of being scatterbrained. Concentrating too much on one thing always seemed to end up with something else getting neglected.

Fakir caught her at the kitchen sink with a vase of mostly wilted roses one afternoon and chose to immediately shoot down her good intentions. "That's no use."

Ahiru's brow furrowed and her lips scrunched into a pout as she flooded the flimsy stems with new water. "You don't know that."

"I know it." Fakir plucked one out and watched as a few petals fell from the drooping head.

"Flowers need water! And some of them are still just fine, so it's not like it's too late," she insisted, making a grab for the one he'd taken. She ended up with her palm against his knuckles instead.

Fakir missed a beat, and then another, before he sighed and made a funny little frown, his eyes shifting to look at something over Ahiru's left shoulder. Then he twisted his hand away from hers and pressed the rose into her fumbling grip. A few more petals fluttered to the floor.

"Do what you want."

Ahiru felt a little off-balance for some reason, but she went about her business anyway. The roses were placed in the sunniest spot in the kitchen and Ahiru, confident that she had done her job, promptly forgot about them for the next three days. By the time she noticed them again, there was only one good one left. The rest sagged with wrinkly petals that had taken on a muddied color, rather than the smooth crimson that had attracted her.

Fakir chided her when he caught her frowning at them. "Don't expect anything different to happen."

"But... I don't get it! There's still water in there and everything!" And there was-not even a lot less than there had been three days ago, really.

"Plants start to die as soon as they're cut, idiot. The water only stalls it for a little while," Fakir told her flatly, and took the vase into his own hands.

Ahiru watched him take it to the back door and empty the rotten contents into the yard. He did hold onto that last unwilted one, though, bringing it back for her and setting it on the kitchen table. "If you really want to keep that, you should just press it. Aren't girls supposed to know about things like that?"

"I guess... " Ahiru scratched the back of her neck, embarrassed. "But even if I do that, it's still not like it'll be alive in the end. And it'll look different."

Fakir shrugged. "Do what you want with it."

She waffled for a while, but in the end, Ahiru took a worn copy of The Prince and the Raven, and carefully slipped the flower between the pages before closing the book again.

It wasn't boring waiting for it to finish pressing, so she could look at it again, though. After all, there was still dancing to be done, still friends to chat with, still lots and lots of stories to read.

And another thing got added on too, when Fakir brought in a large clay pot with a small, green stem peeking up through the rich earth nestled inside it. It was going to be a proper tree some day, but he wanted to see it through the winter before planting it in the ground.

It was strange, but Ahiru was sure sometimes it grew a little bit, between one moment she looked at it and the next.


End file.
